Trumbull, Conn., August 16, 1942
It was two hours ago at least that I wrote the first line above, which will give you some indication of the amount of energy, vim, pep or whatever you choose to call it which animates me this afternoon. Perhaps the cause lies in the fact that my digestive apparatus has been kinking up again, perhaps in the fact that this week we have had at least eight days of rain (and some figure 9); or it may be that not a single word this week has come from any of my children who are at present playing hooky from the old home. I saw Lad last week, had a longer letter than usual from Dan last week, but nothing from what was once my dependable old Ced. What with the lapse of time and distance his ardor must be cooling. We used to try to write once a week, but now we’re lucky if we hear once a month. Oh well, perhaps I’m a bit unreasonable about wanting to know what’s happening to my furthest away boy.
After the rain stopped for a bit yesterday morning, Dick and Dave decided to do a bit of adventuring in the great outdoors, so they loaded their sleeping bags in Dick’s car and started for Candlewood Lake. They had supper in a nearby roadhouse, found a suitable camping spot on the shore, but while it did not rain during the night, it was so hot and muggy that the bags were too hot to sleep in and when they emerged the mosquitoes drove them inside again, and in consequence, they arrived back here, sleepy, early this morning and had a few hours sleep, a light dinner which Aunt Betty prepared for them, I feeling too lazy and miserable to bother with food, after which they started off for the movies. This afternoon it has rained as hard as I have ever seen it rain here in a long time.
It was Jane Mantle’s birthday yesterday and she and Barbara, I understand, had supper with the Warden’s. Possibly we will have a celebration of our own next week – – certainly will if Dan and Lad and Elsie are all able to be present. I don’t really expect all that but it is fun to dream visions anyway.
Well, here it is the middle of August. Before very long I will start my regular sneezing bouts followed by first frost and the end of summer. Fortunately I now have almost a winters supply of coal in the cellar bin. In further preparation I ought to cement up cracks around the cellar windows where new sashes were put in and I also think it would be a good idea to encourage the storm windows with some judiciously installed weather stripping around doors and north windows. That may come after I have finished paying for the coal and cleaning the sewer line.
There is not much news I can reate. Danny Wheeler is now in the Army with the Ferrying Command, I hear. Trumbull shortly will have a test blackout which will duplicate as near as possible the real thing with imaginary incendiary fires, citizens injured, etc. The time is to remain a secret.
As I wrote you, Lad, L.K. Sieck, 228 Gray, Ames, Iowa, wrote a note and asked for your address, saying he had worked with you in Venezuela, having received my address from Charley Hall. He wrote on August 7th he was leaving college within a couple of weeks and hoped I would reply promptly. I did.
Tomorrow, another letter from Lad to Grandpa, and on Friday, another letter from Grandpa to his boys away from home.